Splatterfest - Chapter Five

	Author’s note: Welcome back! Chapter four was a long and meandering road, but I assure you, all of the things that happened in it HAD to happen then and there, for the rest of the plotted story to work! As you’ll see in this episode, where things start to get... complicate

Special thanks to Hidan, Twinburner, Hollud, Saila, and Sharako for contributing cameo scenes, and for everyone who came in during the streams to keep us company.

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“Ohshit-ohshit-ohshit!” Torrie skidded around the corridor, naked feet sliding along tile. Normally it wouldn’t be so awkward,, but it’s hard to run half backwards while staring through a viewfinder!

It’s also damn hard to run when one has a panic boner!

The fruit bat squeaked,  slipping along a suddenly slick floor,as a chain whizzed overhead, taking out the flourescent light with a shattering tinkle! Hmph, had he not stepped in that...what was... actually, no! Nevermind! He didn’t want to think just what that was right now!

“Shit-oh-shitshit-doubleFUCK!” He chanted, grabbing the strap of his camera and rolling  to his feet. He dove into the nearby locker rooms as the sound of those stomping boots and twirling chains came closer!

And just when he shut the door is when he started hearing singing.

Singing? Torrie didn’t have time to think about that, not right now though, not as the door behind him bulged with the force of an angry zombie ghost beast thing slamming into it! Torrie backed away from it, the autozoom catching the metal door bulging towards him again. There was a push bar on his side, all that was keeping the beast from coming in. Thank God it had been in the Locked position. The Door slammed again, and then went quiet. The thuds of the Chainer’s boots slid down the hall, and Torrie let out a sigh of relief.

Now, what on earth was that terrible singing he had heard? The locker rooms were full of totes and duffel bags, and Torrie picked over them, gingerly walking around towards the showers. There was water running in there, and the smell of sex, sex and blood. It made that panic boner throb up against his belly again. Not so much from panic, this time, as.. anticipation.

“I can tell something, something bad happened here,” he whispered to the camera, as he crept closer. The singing was closer now, and even with the echoing acoustics of the shower room, the familiar chords could be picked out.

	“Something something knocked down! But I get up again! You ain’t ever gonna knock me down!”
	
	“It can’t be the chainer,” Torrie whispered to his future audience, “I’d think huge zombie beasts would be able hold a key.”

	The showers were running, and there was a faint sound of music playing. Garbled, tinny music, just audible over the enthusiastic chorus of whomever was inside. Torrie heard the clink of bottles on tiles.

	It was a big, naked dog, sprawled out under one of the showerheads, slumped and mumbling now along with a very drenched and possibly ruined phone, and with a good amount of beer bottles strewn about! Looks like a party that suddenly ended and...

“Oh! He...he was here!” The fruit bat squeaked in excitement. Now he can show a close up of what was happening, show what was all going on! A stiff erection still throbbed beneath his pants, straining at the thought of what might have happened!

Slowly he approached, panning first to all the bottles, then the waterlogged phone, then the large mountain dog soaked and clothesless, head bobbing near passing out. Hmph, but his knees were in the way!

Well, Torrie -was- the director of this lewd little flick, wasn’t he? He would just have to change the view a bit.

Torrie moved around the drowsy pup, and turned off the water. If the drunk dog noticed, he was too drunk to show it - which meant he was probably too drunk to even notice. Torrie crept up to the dog, whose head lolled to one side, licking languidly at a puddle of.. well it could be water, couldn’t it? But was more likely beer.

“All right, don’t mind me, big boy,” the fruit bat tittered, as he knelt down by Spencer’s side. He grabbed one soggy knee, training his camera between his thighs. His breath was coming faster, harder, as he slowly pulled that knee towards him, peeled it away from the other to reveal.....

“Awww.”

Under that soggy cream-colored belly, there was no gorey devastation, no pulped pouch or chopped up cock. Torrie’s sigh of disappointment accompanied his zoom in on what WAS there. A thick dark ruff of pubic fur, and a pudgy, half hard pink doggy cock. Beneath that, filling out a lightly white fuzzed pouch, were two very much intact balls, just sitting there fat and gloating and rude. What a disappointment!

“Well, maybe it’s just not -obvious- that he’s been neutered,” the bat muttered, and, reaching down, began to feel around the canine’s pouch. There wasn’t much room to feel around in - his sac was tight and full enough that the bat couldn’t really even twist them around, not even once, and the warm shower hadn’t helped to loosen them any. He felt along them, for gaps or crushed pockets of hidden daggers, and then along their cords - after all, maybe they had been pulled loose! But no, there was nothing amiss there, and Torrie realized sadly, that..

“Looks like the Chainer hasn’t found you yet.”

“Rrrrf?” came a slurred grunt, the canine opening his eyes, blearily trying to focus on the wall opposite. “Janers? She lookin’ for me?”

Oh, great, now he’s awake! “No, Janers isn’t looking for you, the Chainer is.” And then a pause. And then the bat giggled, hidden on the other side of the screen as he was. “I mean... yeah. She is. She’s in the locker room, and she wants to see you!”

“Oh yeah? Ah, shit, is she hot?” The dog was turtling a bit, rolling one side, then the other, trying to find some kind of purchase. The bat stood up and took a few steps away, as the dog’s feet and hands slid on the slippery cruddy shower floor.

“Oh, yeah, she’s hot. REAL hot, like, Smokin’. You should see her! Come on, let’s get up, so you can go find her!”

“Yeah, okay! Yeah I’m tryin’!” Spencer rolled finally onto his belly, his tail wagging sluggishly, flinging water this way and that. He got up on hands and knees, and started crawling towards Janer.

Torrie zoomed in on the dog’s rear from behind, getting a shot of those fat nuts as the bernese mountain dog’s thighs pushed them back and forth against each other. “Come on!” he prodded, guiding the dog away from the wall, nudging him towards the door. “You don’t want to miss her, do you?”

“No way!” Spencer sputtered, and as he reached the door, he leaned on it. “I just, urgh, maybe I should hold on a second, I don’t think I’ve ever seen three floors at once...”
“Oh, don’t even worry about that,” Torrie said, taking the dog’s clutching hand and lifting. “Up an on your feet, budso!” The groaning jock got up, Torrie’s camera catching him as he nearly collapsed along the bat’s slender frame. “Oh, my, you are a big one! I hope she can take all of you!”

“Ha, I’ll make sure she does!” replied the canine, and together they staggered and stumbled over to one of the benches between the locker rooms. “Where is she? Jaaaaaaaner, I’m waaaaiting for yoooou...”

“She’s definitely going to come if you keep singing like that,” Torrie winced, as the dog abruptly changed tunes.

“Sweet jane! come on baby! sweet jane! oh-oh-a! sweet jane!” he bawled out, as the bat spread his legs apart, tucking his feet under the bench and then tying them together with the strap from a totebag.

“Did you just switch from Chumbawumba to Velvet Underground?” the bat asked, as he sat back on the bench, between the dog’s legs. He spit on a hand, and wrapped it around the dog’s hot pink cock, stroking it soft and slowly.

“Don’t be... shtupid... it’s Lou Reed...” mumbled the dog, eyes already closed. “Jaaaaaanersh...come on byyyy...” He hiccuped, and then, fortunately, the singing stopped.

Torrie didn’t, though. He continued stroking that fat pudgy dog dick, gripping the knot with a squeeze, stroking up to the tip. It thickened some, lengthening, but didn’t get to that vein-popping hardness that you would expect to see on a dick in a video.  It was respectable, though, and Torrie spent a bit of time holding it this way and that, getting some nice shots of it. Then, further down, he captured some good video of the now-snoring canine’s pouch.

“Oh yeah, these are nice.” The camera flicked down, to the bat’s own sizeable bulge, straining against his loose gym shorts, before flicking back to the dog’s balls. he gave them a squeeze. “Wow, I can’t believe, I’m going to be the last one to play with your balls, doggy.” He tittered again, then stood up, leaving that pink cock flagging along one thick thigh. Those nuts sagged, only slightly, under the cold overhead fluorescent lights, and the sleeping canine’s legs twitched, as if to pull them together. “Now now... sleep tight...” He giggled, and then trotted back to the locked locker-room doors.

They were easy to open, the bat pushing with a metal CLUNK, and then peering out into the hallway. Totally empty - and yet not. Ears perked up, as he heard a peculiar high pitched squeal, cut abruptly off, at the other end of the hallway. He quickly zoomed in, seeing nothing but the occasional flash of lightning, the thrashing of trees just outside... and a large and hulking shadow.

It was the Chainer!

Torrie squeaked! But kept his focus, and drawing a deep breath, he waved frantically down the hall.

“YoOOooooo-HoooOOooOOOoooo, Meeeester Chaaaay-neeerrrr.. I have a nice big fat set of balls here for you!” He shouted down the hall.

The Chainer turned towards him, another flash of light bursting around his bulky frame, and then began to clomp towards him. Clomp. Clomp. Clomp. The laminate floor trembled with the weight of it.

“Excellent, he’s falling for it!” Torrie chortled, watching the Chainer come closer. Another long heart beat, and he muttered, half in realization, “Oh crap, I better hide.” The bat whispered to himself a half second before turning to search for safety. His wide feet stuck in place as the heavy footfalls moved closer, a suddenly trembling bat looking down over the noticeable bulge in his shorts to his toes as they curled in protest against the cool floor. His eyes moved back up to the approaching apparition, wide with shock, and a final shove from his instincts found the use of his legs returned to him once again.

The scraping of the long length of chain along the floor was getting louder, as Torrie scrambled back into the locker room. Where would he hide? He tried jamming himself into one of the lockers, but he couldn’t cram all the way in. On top of that, he got some weird cold clotted slime on his elbow. Gross.

Under the bench? No, that would be ridiculous, and obvious. In the shower rooms? Then he wouldn’t be able to see! Maybe he could set up the camera?

There was no time, now, for he heard the door swing open, the Chainer slamming it against the outer wall, and thumping in. Torrie’s heart was pounding in his chest, if he wasn’t going to be a sitting duck for the serial castrator, he was going to have to do something, and NOW! His eyes desperately searched the room, settling on the only other way out.

The Chainer stalked into the room, rounding the corner, chain spinning around, like a bobby’s billy club. It was gonna get some BALLS, it knew it, that little bitch of a bat wasn’t going to get away from it this time.

But what is this? As the Chainer wandered back into the locker room - a room it knew fairly well, after all, having already neutered four.. or was it five... so hard to keep track when you’re on a castration spree - it found, not a bat, but a dog! A drooling sleeping dog, with a gleaming, sticky, damp looking pink cock, hanging out all blatant and sexy like.

The door leading outside slammed closed with a bang, only slightly catching the Chainer’s attention. So the bat had fled - it would catch the male later, after this little.. treat. Was it a gift? A coincidence?

The overhead perspective caught everything, as the Chainer moved closer to the snoring bernese mountain dog. There was only the lightest of breathing of the camera holder, completely still otherwise, looking down from four or five feet above, as the Chainer straddled the bench - exactly where the bat had been not three minutes earlier.

It reached forward, a thick leather-gloved hand taking the dog’s cock, lifting it up from where it nestled, almost soft, on those still damp white-fuzzed balls. It lifted it out of the way, squeezing it enough to bulge between those gloved fingers, and then reached for those fat nuts.,

The camera zoomed in closer, beginning to shake slightly, the sound of the camera holder’s breathing rasping louder in the microphone. It zoomed in as the Chainer grasped those pudgy balls, and pulled them down and taut. The softest of aroused moans could be heard from the bat, and the Chainer froze. Still holding those bulging balls tight, it glanced around, left, right. Was someone here?

Torrie’s breathing hitched in his throat, going almost completely still. The camera still twitched, but only with the bat’s heartbeat, glitching ever so slightly every second or so.

	An unbearable amount of time passed, before Chainer turned back to the unconscious doggie at hand. In a way that could only be described as ‘careful’, that pink cock was pushed against the dog’s belly. The squeezing and holding must have been felt, at least partially, even through the drink-induced stupor, for it had hardened to an impressive seven or eight inches, twitching underneath that pinning wrist. It throbbed, the dog’s head twisting in his sleep, tongue lolling onto the bench beneath him.

	“Ooooohhh... Jaaaaayner....” he murmured. The beast’s forearm clenched, pulling back, those fat balls unable to slide free of the cruel, iron-like fingers that snared them.

“Rrrrf, yeah, Janie..” the dog growl-moaned, his voice covering up the sound of the bat’s own soft moan. “Rrr, take it all... good little bitch...” He muttered, and his hips pushed up into the hand that pressed so firmly against his knot. “Yeeeaaaaa-ELP!”

Chainer had not been playing, at pulling on those puppy spuds. There was a brief pause, when the dog had spoke, the Chainer seeming to look up at the snoozing dog, and then, looking back down, he had pulled his hand down, as easily as one would start a lawn mower. Those balls had come with it, stretching and then tearing like wet bed sheets, the whole pouch yanked free with nary a moment’s notice.

That’s what had caused the yelp, and Spencer jolted away, curling up briefly, getting his elbow on the bench behind him. “Whoa baby, not so rough!” he said, eyes squinting, trying to focus on the bitch in front of him. Ugh, what had she been drinking, she looked absolutely hideous. What kind of a wingman did he have, anyways? “Ugh, where’s Janer?” He asked, still trying to focus.

In response, the Chainer pushed his hand forward, against the dog’s snout, rubbing those pudgy balls against his own nose. As if he were a bad puppy!

Spencer gawked. “Are those my... not cool, dude...” and then his eyes rolled up, and he slumped back onto the bench, out cold.

Torrie shuddered, the camera shaking as he huffed, whining so softly, his body seeming to convulse. It never left it’s focus on the Chainer and his victim, though, even as the Chainer lifted those pilfered spuds to it’s own muzzle. Those jaws spread, and the camera zoomed in, into the darkness between them. Not teeth and tongue but darkness, shadow, some terrible inky blackness that threatened to suck him right down from the ceiling. Those balls were dropped into it, disappearing, never to be seen again by mortal man, or maybe even eldritch horrors, maybe not even-

Torrie realized, suddenly, that the Chainer was facing him, staring at him. Staring right at him.
“Holy shit.”

The video clip ends there.

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	In the medical wing, Husher’s adrenaline was finally starting to wear off. The initial rush of flight or fight, plus his elation for having actually gotten away, even if only partly intact, was wearing away into panic and shock.

	“Oh my god. Oh my god? Oh my god …”, he kept saying, as he sat on the medical cot. His empty sheath stared up at him, limp, accusingly, with his two thick foxballs nestled comfortably just below it. 

He’d never have a cock again. At least not his own, that was for sure, considering how he actually got away from the chainer-dude. That squishing sound... he was sure it would haunt his memory for a long time.

“Oh my God. Oh my god. Oh my god.”

	“Hey! Snap out of it man, you’re getting creepy,” Aesc grumbled. The tone made Joshua near the door wince. The leopon had offered to watch the door incase anything nasty started trying to get in, but he was starting to think something nasty was already here. Aesc’s bedside manner was nonexistant. Doctor Felix was in the back, getting some antiseptic and gauze, to make sure Husher didn’t lose more than just his cock. Just his cock. 

	Aesc nudged the other fox in the room, Cirian, who was still out cold on the other bed in the forward room of the medical center. The fox’s pants were off, and Dr. Felix had stuffed a bit of gauze in the gaping hole where the fox’s missing orb was, wrapped up in a bit more gauze to make sure the padding didn’t fall out. 

“You know, the way he’s all dressed up, it almost looks like foxie here still has both orbs.” The ram snickered, glancing over to the white and blue fox, then back to the gold one. “You know... at least Cirian can get a falsie, eh? He can look ‘normal’ down there. Not really an option for you, though, is it Husher?”

	Husher whimpered a bit and tried to clamp his legs together tighter and ignore the throbbing heat radiating painfully up between them. It felt like his cock was on fire, now, and that was the worst part, feeling that pain and not being able to do anything about it. It hurt, and it felt like it was ‘there’ even though he knew it was gone. “I.. ,,no... I guess not.” He paused, wiping at his leaking nose with a forearm. “C..can we just...n..not talk about it? Please?”

	“How can we not?”,said Dr. Felix, now returning with some supplies. “In case you missed it, Cirian lost one of his balls, and you had your cock cut off, and I’m treating both of your wounds.. It’s kind of the subject of the night, you know.” The doctor pulled a tray over, putting the various tools on it before realizing that Husher was curled up in the fetal position. “Now, come on, you’ll have to lay on your back. I can’t clean the wound if you’re all clamped up.” The silver scaled doctor patted the maimed fox’s shoulder, then gently rolled him onto his back. “There we go, and let’s see what we got here...” he said, carefully easing Husher’s knees apart.

	“Or what we -don’t- have, is more like it,” Aesc sniggered.

	 Husher whined again as felix pulled his thighs apart wide, revealing the snowy white sheath, hanging limp and empty, crusted with dark brown blood around the rim. He pulled at the doctor’s hands, trying to reclose his legs, but Felix kept them held down, firmly. “You’d best cooperate, now, Husher. I know what I’m doing, and and it’s nothing I haven’t seen before. Besides, if you get an infection there of all places, you’ll be a lot more than dickless. So stop whining, and hold still.” 

Felix got to work, gloved fingers working the fox’s limp sheath down over and exposing the raw, ragged, stumpy bit of cockbase that remained from the Chainer’s brutal yank. He was none-too-gentle about cleaning it, the bluish white fox yipping and whimpering every couple of seconds as the doctor first rinsed his stump, then sterilized it with an alcohol swab. When he began to dab at it with a cotton ball, checking for any remaining bleeding, Husher let out a high pitched, scream-like yelp, prompting Joshua to come closer to the bed.

“Hey there, come on, here, hold my hand,” Joshua said, the leopon leaning over Husher and giving engulfing both of the fox’s paws in his own.Husher squeezed tight, and peered with tear-filled eyes, up to the concerned, somber feline above him. “It’s gonna be okay.I promise.”
The feeling of the needle and thread, suturing up around the bit of his sensitive cock root made the fox yip again, body twitching, but in short order it was over and the fox was all patched up. Lastly, and most embarrassingly, Felix threaded a slim catheter partway into the fox’s cockroot. 

“Wait!” the fox squirmed, “I mean, Erf, cummon, that’s, that’s just-”

“-necessary, unless you want to risk the pisshole in there healing over, cockless fox. Or would you Prefer not to piss again, as well as never fuck someone?” The doctor’s voice was firm, if pleasant, but his lighthearted joke stung, and Husher’s ears went flat back as he looked away.

 Aesc took up the teasing next,snickering as he did, “Yeah, Husher, what’s it like knowing you’ll never feel your cock wrapped up in somethin nice again huh?“ Husher didn’t answer, clenching his eyes tightly shut now too as his legs went back together again, though with the clear tubing poking out from his sheath and over his thigh, there was no longer any way to hide what had happened. “Heh, mayyyybe you oughta keep that lil stick in yer sheath, I mean, it’s more than you got now, anyways, right? Least it’s something, right? What happened to yours, anyways? Did he eat it or something?”

Husher shivered, looking at the wall opposite the ram. “I...I t..threw it behind me to-”
 
He was interrupted with Aesc’s bleating laughter, the ram slapping his knee and bending over to support himself. “You threw away your own cock?! Hah I guess it couldn’t have been any good, if you were willing to get rid of it, you lil pussy!”

	Joshua stood up, wheeled around on Aesc and shouted, “You shut your goddamn hole, horn-boy!” 

Aesc was about to snap back but Joshua had already crossed the room to him, and poked a finger into the ram’s chest. Hard, “For fuck’s sake, man, you didn’t lose anything, I didn’t see you trying to go fight that hook armed fucker, or trying to lead him off, or help anyone. I didn’t see you volunteering to go for help!” 

Aesc stammered a bit, “I... Well, someone had to help watch the door...” 

Joshua growled, “All you’ve done since you got in here is harass husher over what happened, you insensitive prick! Besides! Who cares if he doesn’t have a cock! I sure as hell don’t! Hell, I think he looks good without it!” Husher’s ears perked up hearing that and his cheeks reddened a tad while the Leopon kept going, “And as for watching the door, Aesc, ‘I’ am watching the door. We don’t need you here. How about you get the fuck out of here and go find something constructive to do, before I make you envious of Husher!” 

The ram gulped audibly seeing Joshua’s claws come out and he swiftly unlocked the door, almost frantically pulling it open. “Fine man! Fine! Cheezits Rice!” The door slammed behind him, and Joshua growled as he went to it, flicking the lock closed again.

Felix cleared his throat, raising a finger to interject, but the dragonoid was cut off. 

“Shouldn’t you be sending an email, or something, Doctor? Shut your mouth and get to the computer.” 

Felix coughed, and nodded, “Uh...right...sure...email.” He turned, walking briskly into the back room, and closed it with a much quieter quick. The room was empty, again, and Joshua walked back to the fox’s bed. 

Husher meanwhile felt like his cheeks were on fire. “Do you really think I...look good like this?” He asked, quietly, his blush spreading into his ears, making them a bright pink under the soft short white fuzz. 

Joshua nodded, retracting his claws back and sitting on Husher’s bed. “Well.. yeah, actually. That’s ...not weird I hope? I mean I wouldn’t ever want this to happen, to you, or anyone, or anything but... yeah I think it kinda looks good on you. Really.” 

Husher smiled a bit and nodded, “Th..thanks Joshua.”

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The cafeteria doors slammed shut, and Jimbo, Taj, and Marcus worked efficiently at barricading them with the large benched tables. All around them, other students milled about, some being consoled, others furiously tapping at their phones.

	“Jesus, did you see the size of that guy?”

	Kimbo wiped at his mouth, leaning back against the sideways-propped table. “How could you not, he was huge.”

	Taj squeezed his arms around himself, glancing around the room. “Do you think everyone else is okay?”

	“Well, I know one thing, Fioxy ain’t.” The group’s lone fennec flopped on one of the unused table-benches, shaking his head. “Did you see that? The guy was stomping. ON HIS BALLS.”

	Marcus patted the fennec on the shoulder. “Don’t worry, Jay. I’m sure that Fioxy is fine. What we have to think about now is, who is that guy, and what is he doing here?”

	Coach Gronk grunted, tossing his hands up into the air. “Who gives a fuck, he’s prolly some asshole from Twin Orb Technical, trying to sabotage my game so that we lose our NCWF standings.” He kicked at the door to the kitchen. “Shit, I’m hungry!”

	“You’re always hungry,” Kimbo responded, pacing back and forth, towards the barricaded door, then towards the one opposite.

	A  strong chested ram raised one hand up, calmly. “If I may suggest it, I think it would be better for all of us if we left the building and went back to the main campus.”

	A tall maned wolf shook his head, gesturing obliquely. “We technically can’t leave, since we’ve been witness to a crime. What we should do is, call campus security and let them handle it.”

	“Campus security is offline, Adon,” said Verus, the tiger pushing his way into the discussion. “I was texting with Zerky earlier tonight, and he has not responded for the last hour. I texted Barnables, too. No response. I think that this is some sort of planned attack. Maybe he’s not the only person who’s decided to come here. Maybe Fioxy isn’t the only person who’s been hurt.” His voice lowered, ominously. “..or worse.”

	“What, like a conspiracy?” the wolf responded, shaking his head again. “That’s ridiculous, I mean, why? How? I mean, that doesn’t even make sense.”

	“I don’t think it’s that insane,” Marcus said. The other wolf stood up, eyeing down Adon, before continuing. “We -are- the best wrestling team in the region. Everyone knows this. Tomorrow is the first public event the Arena will be hosting. A scandal, like someone being assaulted-”

	“Multiple assaults,” interjected Basil.

	“Exactly, multiple assaults, will shut it down. Shut the college down. Shut US down.” Marcus shook his head, pushing past Kimbo. “That’s why we can’t let that happen. We need to kick this guy’s ass, and send a message to the other colleges. Nobody messes with us!”

	“Seems drastic, to me,” said Basil. “I mean, how do we know we can get him down? How do we know there isn’t an entire competing wrestling team? And, don’t forget, we’re all split up. I say, if the security team is out of commission, what can we do against it? We should inform the authorities, and preferably from the safety of the main college campus.”

	“Absolutely not..” The voice was soft, but authoritative. The older jackal known as Lord Byron stood up, brushing gloved fingers down the front of his starched uniform. “We will not be alerting the police.”

	The outcry from those around him only made the jackal put his hand up. “I, as partial *owner* of this campus, have to insist that the debacle that alerting the public would create, is by no means in Anyone’s best interests. We will either,” he gestures to Kimbo, “Take care of this menace, ourselves, or,” He gestures to Basil, “Leave, discreetly, and never mention it to anyone.”

	“But how can we take care of it?” whined the fennec. “I mean I know you guys are all big strong wrestlers, but do any of you have a gun? A taser? A stick with friggin’ nails in it?”

	“My boys could take care of him, easy,” Coach mused, leaning against the locked door to the kitchen. “They’re all on leave, too, just down at the port.” He glanced at his wrist, thinking hard. “What is that, like, twenty minutes away?”

	A deep cough came from behind him, and the orc stumbled away from the door, as the large, floppy-bellied boar known as Chef Clayton appeared. His heavy belly and arms were stained with grease, and the boar was wiping his hands with a dirty looking rag. After being surrounded by tight, lean, muscular jock boys for so long, seeing the proudly overweight boar, with his belly hanging wide and gleaming and low, was enough of a shock to shut the whole crowd down. “More like an hour, Coach Gronk.”

	“Clayton!” the orc squealed, clapping the school’s head cook on the shoulder. “I thought for sure you would be home in bed tonight, how are ya, longpig?”

	The cook chuckled, socking the coach in the shoulder. “I’m doing fine, just had the most Deeelicious hamburger.” He smacked his lips, leering at Basil widely before turning back to the ork. Something about the way he was grinning at the ork made some of the students in the crowd’s stomachs clench. “And, speaking of which, I think you should get your boys over here. I dunno what that thing is, but I heard it walk through the cafeteria a little while ago, with it’s chain draggin’ and it’s creepy howling breaths... sent chills down my spine.”

	“You make it sound like it’s from a bad Dickens novel,” Basil snorted, rolling his eyes. “Let’s just go. The storm is bad, we can all make it out to our cars. Worse comes to worse, if he catches us out there, ONE of us loses their balls, maybe two, tops. There’s like, twenty people here, so I see that as five or ten percent risk in order to save our balls.” He started to walk towards the back door. “Unless you want to wait for him to bust through those tables and geld all of you, you’d betterl come with me.”

	There was assorted murmuring, and many of the students got up to leave. Lord Byron climbed atop a table, clapping his hands to get the gathering’s attention.

	“If you leave this room”, he started, “That’s fine. But I have, with my phone here, taken a picture of each and every one of you in this room. If word of this, even a whisper, gets out to the press, the police, or put on any of your interweb blogs... I will ruin you. I will find out who you are, and Ruin you.”

	“Ruin us? Aren’t you the one who’d be ruined?” Adon replied, dryly, as he paused to turn around and face the jackal. “Aren’t you the one invested here? Me, personally, I’m a lot more invested in my balls than I am in this school. What’s it to you... to get me to stay quiet?”

	That got everyone’s attention, the whole of the group murmuring before turning to face Lord Byron. The jackal could only grin. 

	“Gentlemen, gentlemen...” He said, sitting down atop the table and pulling out a leather-docked checkbook. “I’m glad you’ve come to your senses. Now that we have agreed on the deal, price... is just negotiation.”

	Ten minutes later, and a suspicious coyote was glaring at the jackal as he snagged his check, sniffing at it as if to make sure it was real.

	“Thank you, uhh, Mister Reeves, and I wish you the best of luck, really I do, in whatever, ah, endeavors you indulge in. Just think of this check as an excuse to take a little vacation, a vacation that started... yesterday!”

	Reeves left with the others, and Byron turned back to the only two men left in the cafeteria, other than himself, of course. Coach Gronk and Clayton the Cook were standing just inside the cafeteria, and the boar was holding an unmarked brown bottle.

	Liquor would be just the thing to heal the wounds he had just inflicted upon his poor, undeserving checking account. Hopefully that chainer freak would snag one or two of those greedy little punks before they made it out of the parking lot. Lord Byron sauntered into the kitchen, and Clayton handed him a half-filled tumbler. “So glad you could join us. You called your boys, huh, Coach?”

	Coach Gronk was leaning against a large preparation table, draining his tumbler and handing it back to the chubby boar. “Yeah, they’re on their way. Said they’d be here in about forty minutes.”

	Lord Byron enjoyed his drink - sort of a cross between whiskey and rum, dark and pungent and burned-caramelly.

	“Forty minutes? Oh, good. That’ll be juuuuuust enough time,” the cook said, taking Lord Byron’s glass back.

	“Just enough time....fer what?” said the jackal, smacking his lips. They felt large and rubbery and numb.

	“For the drugs to wear off,” the boar said, smiling and getting larger. Bigger and bigger, until he towered over the jackal. No, he wasn’t towering over him, he wasn’t getting bigger- Byron was getting smaller. Only that was silly. He was still figuring out how he wound up laying down on the floor, when his eyes closed, and he stopped thinking entirely.

	*	*	*	*	*	*	*	*	*	*	*	*

	The hushed whispers of the crowd buzzed heavily in the air, as the group left the relative safety of the cafeteria. Verus stood just outside the door, gesturing down the hall, helping to corral the other students down the hallway, towards the main entrance.

“Stay calm, stay quiet, we’re going to be fine,” he murmured, smiling widely, confidently to the students. He gradually realized that one of the students was standing next to him. He glanced over, to the large raccoon wearing tan khakis and a tight blue button up shirt. The coon’s foot was tapping - it was that slapping sound that had drawn the tiger’s attention to him - and as he watched, one powerfully corded  arm reached and flicked his thick glasses up his snout. His head darted left, right, looking up the hall, and then back down. As the last of the students filed out, heading up the hallway, Verus started to walk back into the cafeteria, only to feel a tug on his wrist.

	“You shouldn’t go back in there,” Seymour said, his voice quiet, strained. “I’ve got a baad feeling about that cook.”

	Verus frowned, jerking his arm free of the raccoon’s grip. “I don’t particularly enjoy being told what I should, or shouldn’t, do,” he said, with a huff, glancing, peering into the room as Lord Byron stepped into the kitchen. “But you’re right, the cook is almost as creepy as that chain-guy is.” He sighed, and let the cafeteria door close, satisfied as it self-locked. “If that creep gets in there, maybe the cook will scare him off, huh?”

	Seymour didn’t seem to think much of his joke. He was breathing hard, fidgeting to push his glasses back up his snout, his shoulders drawn high and tight. It made the Verus itch under his fancy clothes, all those soft, meek moves trimade the tiger’s tail curl, growling low in his throat, triggering those almost instinctual predator reflexes. Just as quickly as they flared, he calmed them over, though, and his bared teeth growl turned into a friendly, comfortable smile.

	“Look, I’m sure that whatever happened, it’s going to be fine. Just perfectly fine.” He said, and reached over, rubbing against the back of the raccoon’s shoulder. “Hey, you know, I never noticed how built your shoulders are. Always had you pegged as kind of a nerd. You been working out?”

	“Oh... every now and then. I see you at the gym, but, you know...”

	Verus chuckled, “Well maybe next time you see me there you can come say hi. I enjoy working up a thick lather with a buddy.” That seemed to perk the ‘coon up, and Verus smirked a little at the shy glance the raccoon gave to the tiger’s elegantly bulging slacks. “This rain is pretty nasty. What do you think we should do?”

	“What do you mean?”

	“Well, we’re obligated to report what’s going on.”

	“But Mister Byron gave us all of these big fat checks,” Seymour said, stress pitching his voice up a key or two. “We agreed to not tell anyone, remember? You gave your word.”

	“Yes, I did, but I’m also obligated to the students of the college. If more people get hurt, because I was so greedy as to take Byron’s money, I would be at fault.” The tiger shook his head, taking off walking at a brisk pace, striding confidently towards the doors towards the parking lot.

	As if in response, a startled yelp sounded from down the hallway, a slash of lightning crashing around the building just a second or two later. The storm was upon them, now, the rain washing at the heavy wire-framed windows. Verus folded his arms along his chest, his head lowering, his shoulders tightening. Seymour followed him, glancing down the long hallway, then down the side corridor.

	“Verus, we should go. We’re in the open here, totally vulnerable. I want to go somewhere else, somewhere safer.”

	“I hate rain,” the tiger stated, flatly, his tail lashing against the back of the raccoon’s calves. “Why did it have to rain today?”

	There was another clash of lightning, and the sound of a door bursting open. Seymour clutched himself against the tiger. “Verus, we have to go. We have to go, -now-, or we’re going to be the people you feel bad about not trying to help.”

	Verus seemed reluctant, even with that, and the raccoon glanced back over his shoulder. Was that a large figure, standing at the far end of the hallway? Rather than contemplate, the raccoon lunged himself forward, pushing the tiger alongside of him, and the two of them slammed through the door and into the torrent of rain outside.

	The hissing cat, the spattering of rain drumming against his skull, the crash of the big metal doors, noises were overwhelming as the two healthy males jogged along the flooded sidewalk. No umbrella or rain coats, just rain rain rain, soaking instantly through Seymour’s thick sweatshirt and Verus’ white collared polo. Seymour glanced back at the school, but the rain was so thick, there was nothing to see except falling static.

	Seymour’s first indication that he had reached the parking lot was by nearly bowling into a parked cadillac. The door was open, the rain already puddling on the floor of it. The tiger yanked so hard on the raccoon’s arm that Seymour’s feet slid along the ground, the big raccoon staggeringas the tiger jerked him around the car. The sound of rain banging and drumming over dozens of roofs and hoods deafened out whatever the tiger was shouting. There were cars everywhere, doors left open, headlights on, slammed into each other.

What had happened here?

A large white van loomed ahead, and the tiger practically threw Seymour into it, clambering in afterwards and slamming the sliding door shut behind them. The tinny drumming along the sides and ceiling drowned out the two male’s labored breathing.

After a few minutes, when the door didn’t slide back open to reveal the Chainer in all his infamousity, the two males sat up. The tiger had landed on top of the raccoon, the feline’s broad chest so warm against Seymour’s, even through the clinging soaked shirts. He pulled away, though, and Seymour sat up with him, gathering their wits. The van was full of sparkling lights, twirling over plush pink shag fur and a garish unicorn rug, the cheap white polyester fur streaked with thick sticky clumps of mud.

“You pulled me into a shaggin’ wagon?” Seymour smirked. “Verus, I didn’t know you cared.”

The tiger growled, turning to the door handle and flipping the lock. He climbed into the driver’s seat, and adjusting the seat back. “The keys are gone. I don’t think it matters, though - look.”

Seymour climbed up as well, and groaned at the sight. The headlights of the van was pointing out, towards the driveway back towards the main camus. A dozen students, running from certain doom, had all cranked their engines and slammed towards the one way out of the rec-center. A dozen cars had, therefore, all jammed into each other, completely blocking the entry way.

	“Oh my, is that...” Seymour whimpered, leaning forward until his nose pressed against the windshield, the rain washing down just on the other side of it. “It is. That’s Jameson, over there.”

	Verus creeped up, leaning against Seymour’s back, peering out over the passenger seat. “Just... laying there? In the rain? Shit. Do you think he’s okay?”

	The windshield, blurred as it was with the heavy rain, hid whatever damage had been done to t he milky white bunny, but he was laying out on the parking lot, arms and legs spread, staring up at the sky, with his pants around his knees.

	“This must have -just- happened”, Seymour whispered, retreating from the view of carnage outside. “Oh God, everyone in the cafeteria.. I didn’t see anyone go back in..” 

	Verus retreated as well, sitting on the bed that took up the back half of the van. “I’m sure they’re okay.” Seymour looked at him, long and hard, and the tiger’s eyes dipped down. “Well, most of them.”

	“FUCK!” Seymour bellowed out, grabbing the disco ball from the ceiling and launching it at the front of the van. It slammed into the horn, the van blaring angrily in response.

	“Whoa, dude, chill the fuck -down-”, Verus said, standing again. “You want to get that guy’s attention? Cuz, I mean, I like you n all, but when it comes down to it, I’m -not- tangling with that guy.”

	“Yeah, I know.” Seymour folded his arms over his chest, then grumbled and peeled his shirt off, tossing the soggy polo onto the floor. He was well built, the raccoon’s upper arms and shoulders especially thick, his belly sheathed in softness that hid some of the muscle beneath it. “I just, I’m so aggravated. I just want something to go right.”

	“You and me both, buddy,” Verus agreed, and following Seymour’s lead, he carefully removed his button up shirt and hung it over the driver’s seat. He glanced back out the window. Nobody outside but an unconscious white rabbit. “Is there something I can do to help?”

Seymour wiped his nose, and snapped his head to the side, one ear canted brightly. Verus followed, ear canted, and both males listened intently. There was nothing but the drumming of rain, though. Seymour finally nodded.

“You know, I could really use a blow job.” Seymour finally said, glancing to the tiger.

Verus scowled. “I’d really rather not. I don’t like the taste.”

Seymour held up a paw. “I don’t mean that, I mean, I’d really like to GIVE a blowjob.” He sauntered closer to the tiger, pressing against his chest with one paw. “It’s the oral thing, you know? Really helps me destress. You don’t have to cum, just.. let me mouth you for a bit.”

“I’d really, Really rather not be caught with my pants around my ankles,” Verus said, gesturing out the window to Jameson. Raccoon fingers catch his fly, though, opening the zipper and reaching inside.

“Who said anything about taking your pants off?” Seymour shivered at the first touch of soft silk. He stroked his fingertips along the tiger’s boxers, feeling the warm heat beneath it. Chirring softly he found the band and tugged down, before curling his fingers around and pulling out a soft, and very large member. It was ruddish brown, and immaculately clean.  Dipping his hand back in, he soon fished one, and then the other of the tiger’s two heavy, fist sized kitten makers hanging over the teeth of his zipper, free in the cool van air. 

Seymour admired, just for a moment or two, before devouring that limp mud-colored cock. 

Verus grunted, biting his lip. Mmph, the raccoon was a bit more forward than he had expected from such a meek fellow! Not that he was minding one bit at the moment. Nibbling teeth pinch at his glans, down along his swelling cock, against his studly tiger flesh! Mmph, damn the raccoon was surprising! “Feeling calmed down yet?”

That feeling slipped away a moment, Verus’s penis slapping back up against his bare tiger belly, fur damp and spiky from rain. “It’s a start.” Flushed, Seymour returned to his work, pursing lips and dipping his head, looking indeed quite less panicked, much more controlled as he bobs gently, happily at the big stud tiger’s member!

Verus reached out with either paw, pushing against the walls of the van on either side, as his stiff shat was fawned over. He was rather suddenly enjoying himself! His heart was starting to beat more than it had with a monster on the loose! He growl in lewd, domineering tones, grinding up against that fawning raccoon muzzle, eyes relaxing closed, lips peeling back in a toothy sneer. “You aren’t half bad at this.”

“You don’t know the half of it.”

Something seemed amiss, something...off. Like that moment, right before lightning strikes, when everything is still. No, that’s silly. Still, Verus opened his eyes, the tip of his tiger tail suddenly twitching. Nothing to be seen through the tinted windows, except poor Jameson, of course.

No monster in sight.

The tiger growled, just as a bit of teasing tongue flicked up along the underside of his glans, as fingers wrapped around the neck of his well stuffed feline sack, as he felt it tugged and pulled and squeezed with those large feline baubles tucked inside. 

Lord the raccoon was ornery, mouth and fingers working him over like an old pro, a level of focus that Verus hadn’t experienced from his girlfriend. From his boyfriend, either. That fox was gonna have to meet Seymour, maybe they could practice together. 

The thought of the two males, squabbling over who would get to suck him, who would get to swallow his load, made his tail frizz, and the tiger began grinding against the knuckled wrapped around his sack. Coupled with all the fondling and gripping and tugging and teasing, Verus couldn’t - didn’t want to - hold back! “Damn, I’m, I’m about to cum!”

Yes, Verus, Tiger Prince, was about to release his virile load, but before he could...

Lightning Struck.

It felt like lightning, anyways, a sudden jolt of cold stealing through his groin, just under his cock. He felt it all the way up his spine, in the depths of his bowls,what should have been an orgasm suddenly turning into a terrible feeling that something was wrong. Something was all too wrong! 

Verus gasped, ears pinned back, tail frizzed to capacity. Seymour slowly stood, while the tiger stud fell back, collapsing back onto the shaggin’ wagon’s unmade bed. Seymour was holding one hand up. Why was it so hard to focus?

Something was in the raccoon’s hands. Two somethings, big somethings, cuddling at the bottom of an all too soft and fuzzy pouch.

“Well, well, well, that was a bit easier than I thought! You’d think it’d be harder to neuter a mighty tiger stud such as yourself..”

“N...neuter!?” Why would he say that?  Rounded tiger ears pinned back, disbelief, shock, all kept him quite frozen in place, even as the raccoon pulled open the front of his pants, and dropped that still warm, fat, shorn scrotum, with it’s bulging contents, down inside. He let his pants snap closed, and Verus boggled at how much more of a bulge it gave the raccoon.

“Oh yes! Neuter. See, this thing - whatever it is - seems to want our balls. I figure, having a spare set around should come in handy, should I come across him.” The raccoon stroked over the front of his groin, grinning down at the feline. “Oh, don’t worry, I’ll tell everyone you went out fighting, if they ask. Though I doubt they will. I made sure nobody saw us leaving together. Besides, I’ve aaaallways thought it would be fun to ‘cut you down to size.’.”

Varus was still frozen, simply unable to comprehend what happened! “But... my...balls!”

“Not anymore! They’re mine now. They’re mine, and You? You’re a nice, neutered kittycat! Maybe when this is all done, I’ll show you what big, sissy neutered tigers are good for. Here’s a hint, it involves my cock, and your ass.” 

Seymour leaned forward, and smooched the big tiger jock’s forehead, and all that reality finally caught up with the striped cat. Varus fainted, falling back onto mattress, erection still brazen, but so was the obvious lack of testicles between his legs! With a cheery swish of his ring-tail, the raccoon pulled the tiger’s pants down to his knees, and then flipped him over, that handsome, muscular tiger rump left on display. Seymour put his shirt back on, and carefully opened the door to the van. Ah! The rain had paused! At least for a bit. He left the door open behind him - an open invite to anyone wandering along - and headed back towards the school. He’s ALWAYS wanted to do something like that. It’s just taken a castrator-monster to show up to give him the opportunity!

*	*	*	*	*	*	*	*	*	*	*	*	*